A Pagan Place
by cofax
Summary: The sequel to Carpetbaggers. The Pevensies are growing up, and the challenges of ruling Narnia are maturing with them.
1. Prologue

**A Pagan Place (sequel to _Carpetbaggers_)  
**

* * *

**Prologue: What Unseen Hand**

One month before the vernal equinox, Narnian Year 1002

The late winter snow was hard, sharp-edged where it had melted and refrozen thrice over in the unsettled weather. After four days of travel, even in the flat eastern valleys where winter could not keep all Narnians in their homes, Rhea's feet were sore and her joints ached.

So it was with a feeling shamefully close to relief that she led the way around the last great curve of the road and into the open country outside Cair Paravel. Not home: the castle was too stony and human to ever be that, but it was her responsibility now, the same as the wooded slopes of the western hills had always been. And it was reassuring to see lights in the tower windows, bright against the night sky, and smell the woodsmoke on the breeze.

Beside her, Talma sniffed, hair stiffening along her spine. "Is that it, Mother? It smells so strange!"

"So many humans!" agreed Marna, wrinkling her nose. "And Dwarfs and Dogs, too..." She sounded uncertain: she had never been comfortable outside the world of her litter, and then her Pack. This would have to change.

"And Centaurs and Fauns and Dryads, as well," confirmed Rhea, picking up her pace. She thought she could smell the remains of dinner, and if they were not too late, there might still be some pork-and-rosemary stew left. The mountains had been good, and restful in many ways, but life at Cair Paravel had perhaps spoiled her for cooking. It was, she considered, a great improvement from the days of charred rabbits and raw greens.

The guard at the castle gates was someone she knew, and Ilexus admitted the three Wolves with a bow. "Welcome back to Cair Paravel, Sir Rhea. Good travel?"

"Well enough," she said. "Are they in?"

Ilexus grinned, the expression twisting the great scar on his face so that Marna shrank back against her mother's flank. "Oh, aye, they've been hunting this last week, and Queen Lucy decided to fish on the Great River and near drowned during the thaw. Herself was not pleased at all!"

Rhea snorted, imagining the look on Queen Susan's face. "She took no harm?"

"None at all, but for a few sneezes. _She_was more worried about the dagger she lost in the water!" laughed the Faun.

"Naught has changed, then," said Rhea, with a sweep of her tail. "I've to present these two now, but I'll see you tomorrow, no doubt." Ilexus nodded and waved them on, before turning back to his duty.

The courtyard was empty at this hour, although there were voices in the barracks and the gate to the stable yard was open. Rhea ignored both of those, however, and led her daughters up the stairs to the keep proper. At the doorway they met another guard, this one a Red Dwarf with a short beard that didn't even reach his collar. He lifted his axe, and then relaxed again as Rhea paced under the torch overhead.

"Bindle," acknowledged Rhea. "Are they abed? I have news that should not wait."

"They were supping late," replied the Dwarf readily, "and might still be in the winter parlor. They were there when I came on duty, at moonrise."

Without more than a word of thanks, Rhea pressed on, taking a path that led up two flights of stairs, down a short hallway, and into a room that was lit only by a small fire and the shine of moonlight through the south-facing windows. Four Humans and a Faun were in the room, two of them on chairs and the others on cushions or rugs scattered on the floor.

As the Wolves entered, one of the Humans leapt to his feet, and then relaxed immediately. "Rhea!" he cried, and went down on one knee to greet her.

"My King," said Rhea, and bowed, lowering her nose to the floor. When she lifted her head, King Peter put his arms around her in the show of affection she permitted almost no one else. "It is good to see you well, all of you." She twitched an ear slyly. "Although somewhat damp, I understand."

Queen Lucy's laugh was sudden and joyous, and she scrambled to her feet to join her brother. The girl had grown again, Rhea thought, and stepped forward to touch her nose to the young queen's hand.

They had _all_grown, Rhea decided, as her other two monarchs stood to greet her. Or perhaps her time away had made her see them with new eyes. For they were not the children they had been when first she had entered this castle, muddy and lost, looking for the hope Aslan had promised.

Peter was tall now: the height of a man, though still gangling like a yearling Wolf, all legs and arms, his full growth still to come. His hair had recently been shorn, for his ears and cheekbones jutted out, showing the privations of the past two years still stark on his face.

By contrast, his sister Susan had put on little height, but her hair was glossy and long, her body now fully a woman's shape; and her face had lost the uncertainty that had haunted it for so long.

Edmund, perhaps, had changed the most, shooting up now taller than his older sister, changing from child to youth. His movements were neater than his brother's, as much from hard practice as from any natural grace. It had been a long time since Rhea had had any reason to mistrust him, and in some ways she understood him best of all.

But Lucy was still Lucy: brimming with joy, and ever eager to make a new friend. While Rhea had been wool-gathering (a turn of phrase that always made her snort), Lucy had crossed to greet Talma and Marna, crouching down so as not to threaten the young Wolves.

"These are my daughters, my kings and queens," said Rhea, recalled to her courtesies. "Talma, there, with the white notch in her ear, and Marna, her sister. They are three years of age, and have come to study, and to serve you, if you will have them."

Susan curtseyed, and at a low growl from Rhea, the two pups bowed awkwardly in return. "You are most welcome to Cair Paravel, Talma and Marna," said Queen Susan warmly. "I'm sure we will be very lucky to have you in our service."

"But you've been traveling all day," said Edmund, his eyes narrowed as he looked at Rhea. "You could have come to us tomorrow, after you slept and ate. Why have you come now?"

Peter, who was still on one knee, frowned. "Do you bear news?"

"Indeed I do, my King," Rhea admitted, and let her ears go back. This was the word she carried, that had pushed them so hard and long on the journey, which should have been an easy return to duty. Word that had weighed her down for every step on the snow, and had brought her to her feet after only snatched naps in the lee of a rotted log or tumbled boulder.

They had done well, these past two years. Narnia had rebuilt: had planted and harvested, fished and mined. No one next winter would starve before the spring salmon runs began, and no Giants had been spotted across the northern borders for a twelve-month. Peace they had needed, desperately, and by the grace of Aslan they had mostly had it.

But the news Rhea carried had a stench of blood, and she was loathe to disquiet this quiet family gathering with it.

And yet, such was her duty. "My kings and queens," she said, her voice as clear as she could make it, "Bruno has come back. He has raised an army in the Western Wild, and by summertime, Narnia shall be at war."


	2. Come Into My Parlour, Part 1

**A Pagan Place, Book I: Come Into My Parlour (Part 1)**

Note: _A Pagan Place_ is a story cycle rather than a unified novel like _Carpetbaggers_; the first story, or Book, is _Come Into My Parlour_, and is itself a WIP.

* * *

Seven days after the vernal equinox, Narnian Year 1002

On the western edge of Lantern Waste, before the land begins to climb into the foothills, is a small, and very old, Faun holt in a grove of great oak trees. It sits not far from the trail to Cauldron Pool, and in good weather travelers and locals will gather in the trees' shelter and drink Faun wine and Dwarf ale, and share stories.

This early spring day was clear, and it was warm enough in the sun for one to sit without a jacket, and listen to the snowmelt trickling down the gullies, and the occasional thump of snow falling off a branch. The Faun Pausanius had brought out two kegs from the winter's brewing, and was serving rough-carved wooden mugs of ale in exchange for old Narnian coins, fresh eggs, a string of trout, and even a hank of wool dyed a marvelous crimson.

The crowd around the kegs was as diverse as Narnia herself: Dwarves, Fauns, Satyrs (distinguishable from the Fauns by their horsetails and heavier build), two squabbling Fishers who kept spilling their drinks, a willow Dryad shedding leaves into her cup, a River-Wiggle, and sitting apart from each other, a young Wolf with a mottled brown coat and a Human Girl wearing a remarkably ugly hat over her ragged hair. With such a gathering, it was no surprise that the conversation wandered freely.

The Fauns were concerned about the year's acorn harvest; the Dwarves about the price they were getting for the seaweed they had carried in their great packs from the northwest coast; the Wiggle about whether the spring salmon run would provide enough to carry them through to harvest. The last two years had been lean indeed, with the growth of the population after the end of the Witch's winter, and the fear of starvation was uppermost in Narnian minds.

The Dryad said, at a lull in the discussion, "And there's that business up in the Wild, too. I've heard they're felling trees for bonfires and seige engines."

One of the Satyrs snorted inelegantly (for Satyrs do nothing elegantly). "Stories, that's all, just winding us up."

The Wiggle shook her head, the flat greenish locks of her hair bouncing against her pale face. "I don't know. There's something odd in the water, and the Naiads are unhappy. Could be bad; more bad, after a bad winter. Floods and famine again, I shouldn't be surprised..."

The Satyr rolled his eyes, but one of the Fishers, surprisingly, piped up, "It's true! My cousin Flipclaw saw them, up in the high valleys north of the river! Goblins and Minotaurs all gathered together-and Hags, too! He got out of there as fast as he could, and told me he was going to Archenland."

"Goblins and Hags!" repeated the Dryad, her eyes wide. She shivered, dropping a cascade of leaves into the Wiggle's drink. "Shouldn't we tell someone?"

"Tell who?" challenged the Satyr. He was a big male, burly with muscle, and his stamping hooves drove deep slots into the soft ground. He finished his ale with a gulp and tossed the cup to his host with a meaningful grunt.

Pausanius, looking worried, hurried to pour another serving. "Well, what about the Kings and Queens?" he suggested, his voice uncertain.

"And what would they do?" scoffed the Satyr. "Away in their castle like they are, eating off gold plates and such?"

The Girl coughed, and nearly spilled her drink, but recovered with a thump on the back from the Red Dwarf seated closest to her.

"What about that fellow Fraxinus, over in White Rush Vale?" offered one of the Dwarfs.

The big Satyr shrugged. "He's all right, but he's just another Faun, all in all."

"Doesn't he have soldiers? I heard that he does," said the Wiggle. "Though I'm sure their armor's rusty and their weapons dull."

"And what could a handful of soldiers do if the whole of the Wild roars down on us?" responded the Satyr.

"I thought you didn't believe there was anything out there," said the Girl, speaking for the first time. She was nearly as small as the Dwarfs, a thin and peaky-looking child with a pale face and dirty fingernails. Her fleece-lined cloak was stained but had once been of good quality, and her boots were spattered with mud.

The Satyr (whose name happened to be Athanias) scowled at the Girl, who merely sipped from her cup, looking interested and not at all afraid. "Well, I don't, but so what if there are people up there looking to come down? They're not just Hags and Goblins! They're Narnians, same as us, and there's more than one of us here has got kin up in the Wild, I'll warrant."

At this the Red Dwarf frowned, his bushy red eyebrows meeting over the great prow of his nose. "_You _may have exiles and rebels as kin, but take care you don't cast your net too far. Some of us here are loyal to Narnia and Aslan, and always have been." There was a small stir, and rumbles of agreement came from the Fauns and the Dryad. The Fishers and the Wiggle looked uncomfortable, however, and one of the Black Dwarfs muttered something into her ale.

"Loyal?" Athanias sneered. "Loyal to what? The Lion who left us in the Witch's grasp for a hundred years? The Humans, who weren't even here and now they think they can tax us and look down on us? We're not dumb beasts, we're _Narnians_ and we should have Narnians ruling us!"

"Not that old cry, Athanias," said one of the Fauns wearily. He was an older fellow, with red-brown fur on his legs and a yellow woolen waistcoat that made him look quite dapper. "Narnia for the Narnians, fine, but who will lead us if we can't agree on anything? At least the Humans have Aslan's approval, and that does count for something between the mountains and the Eastern Sea, whether you trust him or not."

"And we know that the only thing that really matters here is whether _Athanias_ trusts him!" offered the larger of the Fishers, to general laughter. Even the big Satyr himself raised his cup at the hit, and the conversation turned again, to the plight of a local Boar who had broken a tusk in a wrestling match.

Half an hour later, the company had grown smaller: the shadows lay long across the clearing and the air had cooled. The Human Girl moved closer to the rest, and fetched up next to Athanias, who was working on his seventh or eighth serving of ale.

"Look here," said the Girl quietly, "there are Human Narnians, as well."

Athanias jerked, spilling his ale, and looked down at the Girl darkly. "How's that?" he grumbled.

The Girl motioned to Pausanius for more ale in her cup. (If anyone had been watching, they would have known that this was only the Girl's second serving, and half of the first had gone into the mud.) "Well, these new kings and queens may be from some faraway land, but there were Humans in Narnia before the Witch came. And not just kings, either."

Up close, Athanias looked like a Satyr who had seen hard times: he had scars on his arms and hands like someone who had fought, and some newer bruises on his prominent ribs. "Well, that's true enough. There was an Earl of Lantern Waste who was Human, once, my grand-sire used to say."

"And my grand-sire's father lived in southern Narnia," said the Girl, keeping her voice low. "His mother was a Naiad, but he looked as Human as any king. He had a farm west of the Great River, grew apples and raised sheep. It's all gone now, of course," she finished, and her mouth twisted.

Athanias whistled softly, his hard look tempering to sympathy. "You're one of those, then, come back from exile. And they won't take your claim?"

The Girl smiled, but it turned into a sneer. "They _said_ they would be fair. That was what they said, your fine kings. But my father asked again and again, and gave them all the papers, all the proof they needed, and they sat on their fine thrones and ate their oysters and beef, and my father died of the lung fever while their precious commission talked and talked and talked."

With a quick look at Pausanius, who was rolling an empty keg across to the door of the holt, Athanias asked, "And then?"

A shrug from the Girl's narrow shoulders. "And then the papers all went missing. And some Red Dwarf, so friendly with that king, the boy the Witch liked, he gets the estate. Just like that!" The Girl's face tightened, her dark eyes glittering. "They _say_ they want things to be fair and honest and all, just like Aslan would want. But they're just like all the rest, come the end of the day. In it for themselves and their friends. Punishing us for Naiad blood, maybe, as if there's a Human between Archenland and Galma who hasn't any." She hunched her shoulders and spat to the side. "Dirty thieves. And my mother in Arrowhead, living on scraps-my father spent every copper piece he had to come north."

There was a considering light in Athanias' eyes. He called to Pausanius for more drinks, and waited until the Faun had shuffled away, grumbling, before he spoke again. Keeping his voice to a low grumbling whisper, he said, "I think, my girl, that I have some friends you'd like to meet."


	3. Come Into My Parlour, Part 2

Nine days after the vernal equinox, Narnian Year 1002

Spring it might be, but the trails west of Cauldron Falls showed little evidence of it. They were cold and slick with snow, treacherous as they wound their way into the mountains beyond the Narnian border. Lucy slipped for the third time that morning and barely caught herself from falling, grabbing at the narrow bole of a young pine with her uphill hand. Downhill, to her left, the slope dropped sharply, with nothing to stop her before the rocky wash nearly one hundred feet below.

Lucy scowled, shaking her head at her own inattention. She had taken her mittens off to tighten her pack straps, and the cold stung her fingers, which were now sticky with sap. Without a word, for there was nothing to say, she pressed on, envying Marna her four feet and sharp claws, that helped her keep her balance on this dangerous trail.

They went on, climbing higher and higher up the side of the canyon, until the trail finally turned and began to weave along the top of the ridge. The trees here were thicker, the boughs more densely woven together, and the light, as a consequence, rather dimmer. Lucy paused in one of the more open sections of the trail, and pulled her waterskin from her belt.

The water was cold, but she needed it after that long climb. At least, she thought with relief, she wasn't wearing mail, which would make this mountain journey much more difficult. She hoped she wouldn't end up regretting that decision, but she'd had no choice: Parlie of Arrowhead, daughter of Narvin and Pala, would never wear armor. It was a risk carrying a bow and a knife, or so Edmund had believed, but in the end he had agreed that she needed _some_ weapons. And even a merchant's daughter from Archenland would want to defend herself on such a journey.

"Marna," she said, after taking another long drink of water, "I just realized how trampled this trail is. Who else has been using it, do you think?"

The young Wolf, even quieter and more reserved than her mother, twitched an ear-uncertainly, Lucy thought. She left the tree she had been sniffing around and went back to the trail, casting up and down it for several seconds before looking at Lucy with her hackles lifting. "Deer, mostly. But also Dwarfs, a Satyr, a Minotaur, some Goblins, and something else I don't know, Qu- I mean, Parlie. It smells horrid, like something rotting."

Something rotting. But Lucy was distracted by something else: she stared at Marna for a moment, then looked at the trail, and back at Marna. "Why, you old faker!" she cried, with burst of laughter. "We've been walking that trail for hours-you can't tell me you needed to smell it again just now!"

Marna shrank, suddenly, crouching low to the ground as if she were trying to flatten into invisibility. "My-I'm sorry, my Queen, I wasn't trying to fool you, but I wanted to be sure-"

At this display of contrition, Lucy's heart melted instantly. "Oh, no, Marna, stop, I didn't mean it," she cried, and dropped to her knees next to Marna. "I'm glad you made sure before you answered, please don't be so afraid, I'm not angry! I promise!" Greatly daring, she put her cold hand on Marna's back and stroked the warm fur soothingly.

Gradually, Marna's stiff body relaxed and her ears came back up. "You're not angry? Talma said-" but then she stopped. Apparently what Talma said was not to be repeated.

Being a queen in Narnia meant more than feasts and archery practice: it also meant crouching in the snow halfway up a mountain to reassure one's bodyguard. "No, I'm not, really I'm not. I was just surprised, because of course you would know after all that time on the trail, and I did not expect you to double-check."

"I-I wanted to be sure, my Queen," said Marna again. "And I wasn't sure, that other one, I didn't recognize it. My mother would know-"

Lucy ran her hand down Marna's back again, and buried the other in the thicker fur on the Wolf's shoulders. "Yes, but she's in Cair Paravel and you're here with me. You and I must work together, and we shall have to trust each other. But of course I trust you already, because your mother would not have sent you if she didn't think I could depend on you. And we've done well so far, haven't we?"

The tension in Marna's back slowly relaxed, and her ears returned to full upright position. "I-do you think so, my Queen? Because Talma said-"

"Talma again!" With difficulty, Lucy refrained from rolling her eyes, and instead pushed herself back to her feet. Her knees were wet from the snow and she plucked at her breeches. "_You_ are here, not Talma, and there's a reason for that. Your sister is a fine Wolf, but no better than you. Now, let's get on, and I don't want to hear any more talk about how I should have brought Talma."

Marna dipped her head in acknowledgement, and led off down the trail, her tail slowly relaxing from its tucked-in position. Lucy followed, wondering if Susan would laugh to hear her own lectures to Lucy repeated to this young and oversensitive Wolf.

_I'm growing up_, she thought, and then put the thought from her mind, for ahead the trail took another turn and began climbing again.

They camped that night in the bole of a burned-out oak, so large that Lucy could stretch out full-length without rolling into the ashes of their small fire. She switched watches with Marna when The Leopard passed overhead, and sat wrapped in her cloak while the sky slowly lightened and a few birds sang the sun above the eastern horizon.

"Today, I think," she said, after they'd eaten a cold breakfast (dry oatcakes and a handful of last fall's raisins for Lucy, and a few mouthfuls of dried mutton for Marna). "We've climbed high, and the trail Athanias told us about must be near."

Indeed, the trail they were watching for was only a quarter-mile further on. It was a narrow rocky path, heading straight up a steep and wooded rise, and deeply slotted with the sharp tracks of Satyrs and Deer. When they came to the top of that first section, Lucy stopped, clinging to a young pine, to catch her breath and loosen the ties of her cloak.

She had barely begun to cool down when Marna growled, and Lucy turned, her hand going to her dagger, to see what had startled the Wolf.

Advancing down the trail towards them was a dark-furred creature, squatter than a bear, with a foul expression on her face. "Who are you?" she challenged, showing teeth as sharp and white as Marna's, but larger.

This was it, then. Lucy tried to bring back the person she'd invented with Edmund, sitting before the fire in his quiet room in Cair Paravel. Small and sharp and resentful, that was Parlie of Arrowhead, daughter of petty merchants in a district where clothing was clean, but patched and threadbare by end of the raw coastal winter. Parlie wasn't Narnian, wasn't too comfortable with Talking Beasts, and hated the Kings and Queens in Cair Paravel for doing her family out of their lost lands.

"Who are you to ask?" Lucy shot back, putting her hand on her dagger. "We're not in Narnia anymore, you can't tell me what to do!"

The creature's hackles bristled and she barked a harsh laugh. "No, we're _not_ in Narnia, and we don't want any Humans coming around! You go on back to the lowlands, girlie, and maybe you'll be safe there. For a while."

Marna growled softly, but Lucy ignored her and squared her shoulders. This was important, she had to make it work, or all the long journey here was wasted. "Well, I'm not Human, not entirely, and I don't want to go back! And, and-Athanias the Satyr said I should come."

The creature had been swinging around to sniff at Marna, but at this she turned her head back to Lucy. "Athanias, is it? A red Faun, missing the tip of his right horn?"

Lucy scoffed. "Athanias is a Satyr, not a Faun, and he has a scar across the knuckles on his left hand! And you know it!"

This got another scowl from the stranger, but her hackles went down, a bit. "What I know and what I don't isn't for you, girlie. All right, then, you can come in for the sergeant to see, and then we'll see. My name's Gulla, but don't shout it about, there's some don't like to hear it much." With that, Gulla (whom Lucy learned later was a Wolverine) turned and headed back up the trail at an awkward, but fast, lope.

Grumbling under her breath, Lucy hitched her pack and her bow higher on her back, and set off in pursuit. Marna, as previously agreed, said nothing: her "cover", such as it was, was to be silent. Acting was no skill of hers: she had not spent hours playing pretend with her siblings when she was younger, arguing over who was to be King Arthur or the Lady of the Lake, and making up adventures for the lady knights that Malory had strangely forgotten to mention.

Half an hour later they passed a Squirrel sitting attentively on a low branch of a twisted fir tree, and a quarter mile after that, a mountain Jay who flashed his brilliant crest at them. And then they were suddenly emerging from a narrow defile into a broad and open valley, filled from one side to the other with a hundred different types of Beast and magical creature moving about in groups and alone; tents and booths; and even a set of archery butts at the far end.

"And this," said Gulla, with a knowing look in her eye that bothered Lucy far more than her sharp teeth and strong jaws, "this is the Army of the Revolution. I hope it's all you were hoping for, girlie!"

The sergeant Gulla had mentioned was close by, sitting on a stool behind a table covered with wax tablets and scraps of parchment. Gulla led them up to the table, sat back on her hindquarters, and snapped in a crisp voice, "New recruits, sergeant! Found 'em out on Crooked Pine trail, about two miles out."

There were no official sergeants at Cair Paravel; indeed, few of their people there had formal titles, beyond Captain Windcaller and Weaponsmaster Silversharp. So Lucy hadn't known what to expect from the sergeant that Gulla had referred to. But it is certain that she didn't expect a glossy-haired Minotaur with three rubies in his left ear and a battle-axe next to his stool with matching stones in the handle.

"Indeed!" boomed the Minotaur, in a voice of great cheer, as if Gulla had just wished him Happy Christmas. "Welcome, welcome! We welcome all those of true hearts, willing to fight to free Narnia from oppression!"

Lucy stared at him, mouth gaping, until a nudge from Marna made her close it. "Um," she said, and then forced herself to remember who she was supposed to be. "Yes, sir, I'm Parlie, from Archenland, and this is, um-" she stumbled to a halt. "Well, I don't know her name, she doesn't talk much."

"And my name is Daedalus, and these jolly chaps call me sergeant-" (Gulla looked anything but jolly.) "-but that's just because I'm good at organizing people. We're all friends here, and so long as we all know who the real chief is, we'll get along fine." His smile was blinding, Lucy thought, as he made a note on a tablet.

"And the chief? Who's that?" Lucy dared to ask. Just in case Elmshadow's information had been wrong.

"You'll meet him later," reassured Daedalus, with another bright smile. "Now, tell me, how did you find us, and why, young recruit?"

_At least he isn't calling me girlie_, Lucy thought, and once again told the sad story of how her father had been cheated out of his rights by the corrupt Human kings. "And I don't see why they've any more right to be in charge than me!" she finished. "They _say_ Aslan said so, but why should he? They're not from Narnia, nobody ever even heard of them before!"

"Right, right," said Daedalus, his smile temporarily shifting to a sympathetic frown. "I've heard so many stories like this, it's dreadful what's going on down in the lowlands, I hear. Corruption and misery, by all accounts. Why, I hear they're forcing Narnians to serve them, and buying treasures for the castle, before everyone has enough to feed them through the winter! Shameful behavior-not even the Witch would have done so!"

This was so blatantly unfair and untrue that Lucy might have protested, if Marna had not very wisely stepped on her foot. "Yes, it's horrible," she choked out, thinking of Panna's loyal friendship, and the bed she still shared with Susan, because it was more important to furnish the barracks for the Oathsworn than it was to provide separate bedrooms for each of the monarchs.

"Now," said Daedalus, and stood up to his full height (which was very high), "let us find you your squad boss, and start you on your duties! Follow me, recruits!"

With a wide-eyed look at Marna, Lucy followed. They had passed the first test, and had joined Bruno's revolution.


End file.
